


Kaffee und Kuchen

by lunicole



Series: Einheit [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Brothers, Dual Alliance (1879), Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Historical, M/M, OC Germanic nations, Second Reich
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-26
Updated: 2014-06-26
Packaged: 2018-02-06 08:27:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1851312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunicole/pseuds/lunicole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vienna, 1879 - It feels weird, it really does, because Prussia usually insists on either coming with him or having somebody accompany him there, usually a very much annoyed Bavaria, who keeps on giving Austria sour looks and exchanges a few words in Bavarian that Germany only ever half-understands. It’s because Austria is like a venomous spider, Prussia says, and that he is as patient and as lethal if you let him get too close.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kaffee und Kuchen

**Author's Note:**

> Repost from the aphanon meme.

_Vienna, 1879_  
  
It’s the first time Germany comes to Vienna alone. It feels weird, it really does, because Prussia usually insists on either coming with him or having somebody accompany him there, usually a very much annoyed Bavaria, who keeps on giving Austria sour looks and exchanges a few words in Bavarian that Germany only ever half-understands. It’s because Austria is like a venomous spider, Prussia says, and that he is as patient and as lethal if you let him get too close. Germany never saw him like that, honestly, but he knows that Prussia has grown more and more paranoid lately, especially whenever Alsace gets mad, talks back to him in French and storms out of the house with her silky blond hair trailing behind her.  
  
Germany doesn’t speak French very well, nowhere near as well as Prussia or Westphalia does, but he knows from Alsace’s tone and Prussia’s expression that whatever it is that she’s saying is sharp and cuts through Prussia’s thick skin like butter. It doesn’t matter, Germany tries to tell himself. Nothing of this ever really matters.  
  
He’s sitting in one of those expensive, elaborate armchairs, now, and Austria is sipping his afternoon coffee with a very serene air that makes Germany wonder why exactly Prussia hates him so much. If Austria looks like anything right now, it’s not a spider, but mostly a very elegant, very distant housecat. It’s hard to imagine him on a battlefield, somehow, but Germany doesn’t know anything about those things, Prussia does, and his older brother never misses an occasion to point that fact out to him.  
  
“How are you enjoying your stay so far?” Austria asks with a detached tone as he places his half-empty cup back on its little silvery tray. “I thought that you might enjoy a night at the opera.  _Don Giovanni_  is playing at the moment, and I’ve heard that they’ve made a rather successful production out of it.”  
  
“Of course, that would be great!” he says, with a bit too much enthusiasm, and he instantly feels stupid, because Austria is all balanced mannerisms and elegant words spoken in an accent that isn’t quite like Bavaria’s. “I, em, I mean, I would love to go with you, if it doesn’t bother you too much. I’ve never seen  _Don Giovanni_  before…”  
  
It’s true. Prussia isn’t so fond of the opera, and Bavaria only ever took him to Bayreuth once or twice to see  _Lohengrin_  and  _Tristan und Isolde_.  
  
“What a shame,” Austria says softly, and he crosses his fingers under his chin, observing Germany with an unreadable look. “But at the same time, I’m very happy that I get to show you something you don’t know.”   
  
There’s almost, almost a smile on his lips as he says that, and Germany catches himself staring at them with an odd sort of fascination. He shakes the thought away, trying his best not to blush like an idiot. Austria makes him feel young and stupid, and he had promised himself not to end up looking like a fool when making his report to his visit in Vienna to Prussia. Prussia already has enough things to worry about at the moment, and Germany doesn’t want to be a burden to him, not again and not like this.  
  
“Would you like some more cake?” Austria asks, either unaware or pointedly ignoring Germany’s discomfort. “I’ve ordered it from the  _Hotel Sacher_ especially for you. If I remember well, you did say that it was your favorite during your last visit.”   
“No, I, em… I’m not hungry anymore. Everything was delicious. Thank you very much.”  
  
Germany awkwardly shifts in his chair, and Austria’s stare is back on him. It’s a strange kind of look, like he’s resigned to drown, to die. There’s despair and there’s anger and death in his eyes, but the mask hasn’t slipped, not yet, and probably not ever.  
  
“You’re so much like him…”   
  
The words slip out of Austria’s mouth, and it seems like the weight of a thousand centuries lies in his tone. Germany doesn’t understand. He blames it on his youth and inexperience, but he can’t help but to feel that this is something else entirely.  
  
“You mean like Prussia?” He wishes he was like him, he really does, but he knows that he’ll never be, not really.  
  
Austria’s face loses its composture for a faction of an instant, and he retreats back into a carefully applied distant look. It’s not the right thing to say, Germany knows it right away, but he isn’t sure he wants to know what Austria really means. Some things are better left in the dark, Schleswig sometimes tells him, and maybe she’s right about those things too.  
  
“Maybe,” he says, and it’s not an honest tone. “I guess it’s normal. But you’re far more well-behaved that he was at your age.”  
  
There’s an odd kind of playfulness in his words, and Germany can’t help but to find it a bit funny too, the image of his brother back in his crusader days, and how he’d tell Germany about his adventures in the Holy Land sometimes, when he had had a bit of a drink and was feeling in a good mood.  
  
“That’s not exactly a hard thing to accomplish,” he agrees, and it seems like Austria appreciates the answer enough to concede Germany an amused little nod. “Is Mrs Hungary going to join us tonight?”  
“No, she won’t. She doesn’t like Mozart.”  
  
Austria closes his eyes, and Germany wonders what it means, about Austria, about this place and about the state of his marriage. He knows he can’t possibly ask Austria directly, and so he falls silent, his eyes wandering off towards the window that shows the lush, green gardens of Schönbrunn. He can feel Austria raising up to his feet next to him, passing him by, his fingertips brushing over his shoulder and stopping right before touching the pale skin of his neck over his shirt collar. Germany doesn’t know what this is supposed to mean, and so he tries his best to muster something that isn’t too stupid this time.  
  
“Thank you for inviting me, Austria.”  
  
There’s a long sigh behind him, and Austria’s hand leaves Germany’s back. It feels weird, and Germany wavers between relief and longing. It’s all so weird, and he can’t help but to wonder if this what Prussia meant when he talked about Austria being like a spider, and if it meant anything when it came to the animity that existed between Prussia and Austria.  
  
“Thank you for coming.” Austria’s voice is a elegant as before. “I’ll be waiting for you in the courtyard at seven. Please enjoy the rest of your afternoon.”  
  
And he leaves, letting Germany alone, with his doubts and his unanswered questions, the doubts and that weird feeling in his stomach that he’s slowly being dragged into a game with Austria and his brother that he doesn’t want to play.  
  
*


End file.
